Black Box
by Seimei
Summary: He didn’t know what he was feeling. He just knew his eyes were dry. [oneshot]


**Black Box**

He was of the age where he _still_ was waiting for his father to come home and _still_ wanted to hold his mother's hand—that's how young he was when he first laid eyes on the girl next door.

Without warning or reason, she came darting across his front lawn one summer afternoon, and he, ever curious, watched her intently. She was a small and soft-looking creature that clutched stubbornly to an old, ratty plush chocobo that had definitely seen better days. Her eyes, though young, were intelligent and almost fierce, which he found startling.

He and his mother were near the front door of his house—the latter, reading, and the former, drawing pictures in the dirt. Both were anticipating the return of his father; his mother had bought fresh watermelon and was going to surprise her husband with it (it was a favorite of his).

His mother glanced up from her book, spied the girl, and called out to the child.

"Where are her parents?" she mumbled under her breath, standing up. She began walking towards the little girl.

The girl, having heard the boy's mother mutter under her breath, stood her ground and smiled.

"I canna find them, ma'am."

His mother shook her head, "Well, have they been gone long?"

The girl nodded.

"In that case, we'll leave them a note on the front porch saying that you're visiting with us? How does that sound, uh…?"

"Tifa!" came the enthusiastic answer, "I'm Tifa! And yeah, I like visits. I was bored at my house, anyway."

"Okay, Tifa. How about I make you a sandwich? I was going to make lunch soon, anyhow." His mother was very responsible.

The girl smiled, clearly pleased, and followed his mother into the house.

The young boy made no move to pursue them. He wasn't sure why, but he found that he was absolutely terrified of that girl. Was it the confidence with which she commanded his mother's attention? Was it the way her hair swung boldly behind her as she scampered about? Was it the way she strangled that ratty old chocobo in her little arms? It was probably a mix of all three.

Either way, she intimidated him. And angered him. And fascinated him.

It also didn't help that she had just stolen the attention of _his_ very own mother.

She was _his_ mom, _wasn't she?_

"Cloud!"

His mother was calling him in for lunch. That was reason enough to face the unknown.

* * *

Rushing into the kitchen, he found a small pile of turkey sandwiches waiting for him on the table. The girl was tugging a crustless-one out of the mound. She glanced up at him as he pulled out a chair and climbed into it, soon reaching for his fair share.

"So, Tifa, are your parents usually gone for a long time?" his mother asked from the counter as she washed off a few plates.

The girl shook her head. "Nuh-uh. This usually never happens. I think they hadda run errands."

"Well, do you have any idea where they might be?"

She stuffed another half-a-sandwich into her mouth and attempted to answer, but after glancing at the boy seated across from her—who looked both confused and repulsed—she swallowed as quickly as she could. "N-no. They were gone when I woke up."

His mother frowned and then shrugged. She finished the dishes and wiped her hands on her shirt. "Well, I'll just go run the note over real quick. Cloud, you're in charge. Tifa, darling, make yourself at home." She picked up a piece of paper and walked out the front door.

They were alone.

He did his best not to make eye contact with her, while all she did was blatantly stare at him.

Finally, she said, "You sure are smaller than some of the other kids around here."

He frowned, but didn't say anything immediately.

"Well, so are you," he replied.

She giggled. "That's because I'm a _girl_."

He couldn't think of anything to say to that, aside from a "bet you're not!" retort—but that didn't sound very intelligent, and he found himself wanting to avoid sounding stupid.

Suddenly, she jumped off her chair and ran towards the living room. She turned and faced him, her eyes firm.

"Cloud, do you like to wrestle?"

He was sure his face gave away how flabbergasted he was, but she didn't seem to waver.

When she didn't say anything more, he replied, "I'm not allowed to hit girls."

She laughed, though she seemed a little impatient, "You don't _hit_ anyone when you wrestle, silly."

When he failed to look thrilled about her proposal, she asked, "Do you like climbing trees, then?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Sometimes."

"What about hopscotch?"

He found himself looking around for an escape.

"Four-square?"

He started inching towards the door…

"Running?"

_Boy, I'd like to do that right about now…_

He bolted.

"Hey!" she called after him, "I didn't say 'go' yet!"

* * *

Both children, one right after the other, stopped dead in their tracks as soon as they left the front door.

A large group of solemn-faced adults were gathered on the road in front of his house. His mother was among them, but her face was turned away.

He felt something lurch in his chest. _This isn't right…_

The adults, upon seeing the emerging children, shook their heads heavily. A man—Tifa's father—came towards the children, and his eyes were clouded.

"Tifa? You can run on home, now," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

"Why, Daddy?" she pouted, angry that she was to be excluded from whatever it was that was happening.

"_Later_, Tifa."

She stormed off, chocobo-in-hand.

He watched her go, suddenly—and strangely—wishing she hadn't; now he was the only person under four feet in a sea of stormy-looking people.

"Cloud…" the older man began, "There's something you need to know…"

But he wasn't looking at the man; he was searching the group of people for his mother.

"Your father—he…"

His mother was in the center of the swarm, her head still turned away from him. Another woman had an arm around her shoulders.

"_Cloud…_"

He watched his mother turn. Their eyes met, and hers were full of tears.

* * *

"_Earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to dust…" _

He was numb by now and had somehow convinced himself that it wasn't his father they were leaving to rot in the ground. The giant, black casket concealed some other person's father, he was certain. Not his. His was still at work, or in the process of coming home to them. He'd see him in the morning, for sure.

Beside him, his mother was kneeling. A veil concealed her red face and puffy eyes. She dropped a bundle of yellow flowers onto the dark box as it passed the surface of the earth. She stood briskly, ignoring the eyes of her son, who watched her.

He knew that she was angry at him. In the last five days since the group of people had gathered at their house, he hadn't shed a tear.

He hadn't cried when he had been told his father had died; he hadn't cried when his mother had scooped him up in her arms and sobbed; he hadn't cried when the faces of old women had looked at him with the deepest pity; he hadn't cried when a variety of strange people had congregated in his home and reminisced around the black casket; he hadn't even cried when his mother made him kiss good-bye the body of the man those strangers seemed to think was his father.

So he knew that his mother thought he didn't care.

And maybe she was right.

He didn't know what he was feeling.

He just knew his eyes were dry.

As the black box disappeared into shadow of the earth, the crowd dispersed. His mother walked away, and he didn't watch her go. Instead, his eyes absorbed the working men as they shoveled dirt into the dark pit. They didn't look at him, but he knew they were uncomfortable with his presence.

Long after they were finished, he remained. He could hear people from a distance saying all kinds of things about him.

"_Poor boy. He looks a little unhinged." _

"_Can't blame him, after all." _

"_Right, right. Of course." _

"_I don't know about you, but… I've never seen a child not cry when a parent dies. Remember two years ago?" _

"_Yes, that one poor family. That little boy had been crushed." _

"_Well, then, what's the deal with this one?"_

None of it mattered, he thought, even though he knew that it really did. They couldn't be talking about _him_, oh no. Maybe they weren't talking at all. Maybe there wasn't anyone around, and he was all alone. And hearing things.

He heard soft footsteps patter towards him. A little finger poked the back of his arm.

"Go away," he growled.

The person behind him hesitated. He felt something soft hit the back of his legs. Slowly, he turned around, unsure of what to expect.

No one was there. For a moment, he thought he really _was_ going crazy.

His eyes traveled down. At his feet, a ratty, old plush chocobo smiled up at him. He lifted it to eye-level and stared into its dopey face, momentarily confused.

…_Tifa?_

He quickly scanned the area and saw a small body zipping away, her long hair tossing behind her like smoke.

When she disappeared, he looked back at the toy and frowned.

Then, without caring if anyone else was around, he walked to the edge of his father's grave and sat, ignoring the itchiness of the grass, staring into the vaguely-grinning face of the chocobo.

And he hugged it.


End file.
